


Inappropriate

by Fictionista654



Series: Villaneve Academia [1]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Academia, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionista654/pseuds/Fictionista654
Summary: Eve is a college professor. Villanelle is her student.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Villaneve Academia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720438
Comments: 2
Kudos: 49





	Inappropriate

It begins with the looks: Villanelle peering coyly around her battered paperback, or glancing over her compact as she applies lipstick the color of arterial blood. Villanelle’s attention flusters Eve, and she blushes her way through class time, the clicker trembling in her hand. Then there are the presents left on Eve’s desk or pressed into her hands at the end of class: a gift-wrapped coffee of _Hangsaman_ , a bundle of chalk tied together with a red ribbon. 

Villanelle’s outfits are ridiculous: a woolen dress in August, a halter top in in a rain storm. She writes with silver fountain pen which she fills from a cut crystal ink bottle. While the other students hand in 12-point, double-spaced, stapled papers, Villanelle’s are handwritten down to the footnotes. Once Niko bumps Eve while she’s grading, causing her to spill water on one of Villanelle’s responses. The heavy ink separates into an oil-slick of color, which transfixes Eve for longer than she would like to admit.

In class, Villanelle is cheerful—almost too cheerful. She dominates the conversation, speaking over the other students with a confidence that astounds Eve. 

“Should I just give you my PhD?” Eve says one of these times, and Villanelle smirks. She stays after class, sitting patiently with her hands folded on the seminar table as the other students stream from the room. 

“Can I help you?” says Eve as she packs away her notes. “Is there something you don’t understand?”

“No. Your class is very easy,” Villanelle says matter-of-factly. “It’s not your fault. Most of the students are a little slow.” Her accent makes _little_ sound like _leetle_. Eve laughs in surprise, though she should expect Villanelle to say things like this by now. 

“So why are you still here?” says Eve, genuinely curious. What does V want from her? 

“I like the teacher,” Villanelle says with a smirk. 

She’s a narcissist, Villanelle. When she’s not drawing Eve on the back of her notes, she’s drawing herself.

Naked.

It’s not that Eve snoops. Villanelle will turn her paper in Eve’s direction, calmly shading her pubic hair. Eve blushes when she gets these glimpses of Villanelle’s imagination, but she never tells Villanelle to stop.

She’s too old for this, Eve tells herself. Too old for this cliché, too old to be seduced by her college student. _I’m married_ , she thinks again and again as she twists Niko’s ring around and around. She’s had it on so long that to remove it she has to wrestle it off her finger, and when she puts it back on, it takes several tries to get it back over the knuckle.

Villanelle comes to every singe one of Eve’s office hours. Eve knows that she should kick her out, free up room for the other students, but Villanelle makes herself so at home. She sits with her legs curled beneath her on Eve’s white loveseat, contentedly reading a book stolen from Eve’s shelves. 

Eve has a corner office, with windows to the north and west, and every afternoon the light streaming into the room turns warm and honey-colored. Sometimes, as Eve catches up on grading, she takes down her hair and lets her curls fall loose. Sometimes, she catches Villanelle watching her.

Sometimes they talk. They talk about classic movies and feminist literature and the superiority of the fork as a murder weapon. They talk about the weather and if kisses in the rain are more romantic. 

“Nothing is sexy about being cold and wet,” says Eve. 

“Are you a crazy woman?” says V. “Soaking wet is _so_ sexy.” 

Eve looks back at her computer screen, gnawing on the inside of her cheek. She can hear V chuckle, slow and soft.

 _V._ Eve has to cut this out. The nicknaming. She can’t let a student get inside her head like this. It’s inappropriate.

It’s inappropriate, but Eve doesn’t really give a shit. How can she, when the alternative means no more time with Villanelle? Eve has come to crave their time together.

The other students begin to catch on. They can tell there’s something between Eve and V, the way they look at each other a little too long, breathe too heavily, blink too fast. The lipstick Eve wears only to V’s section.

“I have a husband,” Eve says the night V corners her outside the library. 

V blinks innocently and plays with Eve’s necklace. The necklace Niko gave her. “So did Virginia Woolf,” V says.

“I’m hardly Virginia Woolf,” says Eve, though she’s not entirely sure what she means by that. Maybe that she’s not enough of a genius to be forgiven a love affair? 

“So?” says V. “I don’t want Virginia Woolf. I want you.” Her lips are warm against Eve’s cheek. 

“I can’t,” Eve says, though she doesn’t move. “I shouldn’t.” 

“I think you should,” says V. “I _really_ think you should.” 

They go to Eve’s house; Niko is at a conference. V wanders through the first floor, taking it in. Eve follows behind, trying to see what V sees—the books everywhere, the scattered teacups, the uncapped pens. V stops at one of the prints, Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man reimagined as the Vitruvian Woman, and smiles.

“Nice boobs,” she says.

Eve snorts. “You certainly have an appreciation for art.”

“Oh, yes,” says V, looking at Eve significantly, “I do.”

Eve flushes and looks down at her feet, which are clad in sensible blue pumps. Even for sensible shoes, they aren’t really Eve’s style. She likes the boost in height they give her, though. It makes her feel more sure of herself. 

Plus, they’re kind of sexy.

Eve tells herself to stop thinking about her shoes. 

V sits on Eve’s couch and casually spreads her legs. “Come here,” she says, holding out her hands. Eve takes them and stumbles forward. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she says. 

“I can tell,” says V, pulling Eve into her lap and resting her forehead against Eve’s sternum. Her hand slides inside Eve’s blouse. Then there is a sound at the door. A key scraping in a lock.

Eve and V stare at each other. Neither moves. 

“Eve?” calls Niko. “Are you home?”

Eve shoves V so she’s sitting next to, not on top of, her. “In here!” Eve says back, her voice surprisingly steady. “I’m with a student.”

And that’s how it starts, but it’s not how it ends.


End file.
